


The Boy Who Lived

by RedFive



Category: Hannibal (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Book 2: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Genderfluid Character, Genderfluid Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter is Not a Cannibal, Kid Fic, My FU Response to JK Rowling, Will Graham is a Metamorphagus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:21:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28779699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedFive/pseuds/RedFive
Summary: Something sinister is stalking the halls of Hogwarts hunting the muggle born students. Can Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham set aside their rivalry to save the school and Will's half-sister, Abigail Hobbs.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11
Collections: MHBB2020





	1. Prologue: The Boy Who Lived

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who's back, back again? YUP. Here with another Hannibal AU is my Year 2 Harry Potter AU featuring my genderfluid Will Graham who has lived in my head for quite some time. Also, if you haven't seen it already! Please enjoy the [amazing artwork](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28783788) kishafisha drew for this piece! I ADORE THE THE S1 CONNECTION which feels so fitting for our heroes in the earliest days of their wizarding adventures. Follow them on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/KishaFisha) for more of their amazing artwork. 
> 
> One day, it is my hope to perhaps continue his story. J.K. Rowling makes that increasingly difficult. But I found some catharsis reclaiming my favorite book in the Harry Potter Universe, and I hope you will too, Fannibal Fam.

Bang. Bang. BANG! The door to the hunting lodge shattered like it was made of glass and not heart pine. Hannibal Hornbill, a scrawny boy of eleven, squinted through the fog that spilled into the one room cabin through the opening. He was the only member of his “family” still on their feet—the only one curious enough. Brave enough. And stupid enough to be more interested in this spectacular display of destruction than the preservation of his own life. What did it matter anyway? His was a life not worth living anyway according to his family. 

His Uncle Robertos and Aunt Murasaki cowered in the farthest corner with Frederick, their son, who cried like an injured rabbit. Hannibal spared them only one glance, when Frederick’s wails reached a piercing volume, and glared at his cousin disdainfully. “Shut up, Frederick,” he snapped using his “family’s” terror to his advantage. It wasn’t often that he could clap back at Frederick and avoid punishment. But his aunt’s “sweet Freddie” was a twat and always had been a twat, and with his last breath, Hannibal would make sure he knew it. 

“Who's that making all that racket in there?” Said a booming voice from the shadows beyond the door. “Better not be Hannibal. I’d hate think that the son of James and Lily Lecter grew up to be a coward. 

Lecter? Who was that? Hannibal wondered. Perhaps it was the family that owned this hut. Hannibal had seen a crest earlier, rusted over and covered in moss, that might have said Lecter once. It was hard to say. Time and the ravages of nature had made it indecipherable. However, Uncle Robertos claimed that these were his lands, Hornbill lands, to which they had fled to from England. 

Lecter. The name pulled at something inside of him like a hunger pang. It felt familiar though he was sure he’d never heard it before. 

The shadows moved and Hannibal realized with dread that the voice didn’t come from beyond the shadows...it was THE shadow. He felt a little more sympathy for his cousin Frederick now.

Hannibal swallowed and fussed with his straw-like bangs, which were too long and always wanted to fall in front of his eyes no matter what he did. There were no windows to escape through and no other doors other than the one in front of him, which was blocked by the monster. 

The shadow stooped and squeezed through the doorway. It coalesced into the shape of a man—no, not a man...a giant.

“Hannibal Lecter, I presume,” the giant said beaming down at him with a large smile and watery eyes. “Rebeus Hagrid, groundskeeper of Hogwarts and I must say, you are quite the sight for these tired eyes. Why, you look just like your mum, you do, though there is a bit of your father’s mischief in your eyes. Dark as a grim they were. Just like yours.”

It was a lot of information to take in all at once. Who was this man? WHAT was he? And what in the Queen’s name was a Hogwarts? But those answers could come later since it did not seem like Hagrid meant to do him immediate harm. Right now, there was only one thing Hannibal cared about—above everything else.

“You knew my parents?” He asked getting right to the point. 

“Knew them? Well of course I knew them. Didn’t you hear me? I’m the groundskeeper at Hogwarts. What a fine pair of wizards your parents were. I never met more decent folk than James and Lily.”

Hannibal’s mouth parted in astonishment. “Wizards?”

The twinkle disappeared from Hagrid’s face, snuffed out so completely that not even an ember of it remained in his coal black eyes. When he rounded on Uncle Robertos, it was with a roar that shook the rafter. “Do you mean to tell me he DOESN’T KNOW!? Hornbill, you imbecile! I have half a mind to rip that empty head of yours from your tiny muggle body. He has a right to know what they fought for. What they died for!”

“Wait!” Hannibal said. He dashed between Hagrid’s legs and inserted himself between his uncle and the giant. There was no love lost between Hannibal and his father’s only brother, but Robertos was the only connection Hannibal still had to his mother and father. There weren’t even any photographs in the Hornbill house to remember them by since Hannibal had no memories of his own.

Hagrid had already brandished an umbrella from who knows where and held it in front of him like a sword.

“STOP!” Hannibal shouted as loud as he could and blushed. His tiny voice sounded laughable in comparison to Hagrid’s. What did he think he was going to accomplish here? He was just a boy. He had no power.

Yet...miraculously Hagrid heard and listened to him. The umbrella somehow disappeared up the sleeve of Hagrid’s coat as the giant settled down--though he was the only one. Uncle Roberto’s sobbed uncontrollably nearly drowning our Frederick’s caterwauling...nearly, but Hannibal didn’t care. His eyes were opening to the wonderous world of magic being offered to him. 

“My parents died in a car crash. That’s what they said.” Hannibal nodded at his guardians. “I’m sorry, but they were insurance salesmen, not—not wizards.” Hannibal explained and looked down at his feet embarrassed. That was not all his aunt and uncle had said about his parents. Hannibal left out the part where his father had been drinking on the night of the accident according to his uncle. As the story went, he had gotten Hannibal’s mother and sister killed with his nasty habit. But by some devilry, Hannibal had survived—that is how they always referred to it as...“devilry”—which is how he came to live at Privet Drive in a small cupboard under the stairs.

“A car crash? James and Lily Lecter, die in a car crash?” Hagrid said, his voice rising. But something about Hannibal’s posture must have given him pause. Hagrid knelt down on one knee and placed a large hand on Hannibal’s shoulder paternally. “Hannibal, your mother and father didn’t die in any bloody car crash. They were freedom fighters and they died protecting you.”

Hannibal looked up at Hagrid though the veil of his bangs in order hide the tears in his eyes.

It was a lie all along? He’d grown up thinking terrible things about his father for abandoning him to the “mercies” of his uncle. He felt ashamed. He felt angry. But most of all, he had grown...curious. “Protecting me from what?” What could kill two allegedly powerful wizards.

“Why from the most powerful wizard that ever lived, He who we do not speak of in the wizarding world,” Hagrid answered grimly, and Hannibal supposed that made sense. 

“Why, Hagrid? Who was he?” Hannibal said finding his voice.

“No! Absolutely not!” Uncle Robertos said, gathering his courage. “I swore to put an end to this nonsense when I took the boy in! Look what magic brought this family too? Ruin! We’ve been hiding in France and England for years! Separated from our family home. Our legacy. My son! My own blood! Growing up without the privileges of nobility because his followers might still be out there!”

Hannibal glared at Uncle Robertos. He knew. HAS KNOWN all along. It irked him to think that even an idiot like his uncle apparently knew more about the wizarding world than he did. “Who? Who killed my parents?” Hannibal was on the verge of shouting now. 

“Hannibal,” Hagrid pleaded. “We don’t say his name. You don’t understand. Those were dark times and he was...so powerful. In those days, we believed that even saying his name could draw his attention to you.”

“Codswallop!” his uncle said.

“Shut your face, Lecter, or I’ll shut it for you. Oh, I forgot, the name is Hornbill now isn’t it? Coward.”

Uncle Robertos reached for an iron sitting near the fireplace intending to take a swing at the giant, but Hagrid was faster. From the sleeve of his worn, leather duster, Hagrid drew a long pink umbrella and pointed the tip at Uncle Robertos. “Avifors!” Hagrid boomed as golf sparks flew from the tip of his umbrella and struck Uncle Robertos in the chest. 

Hannibal’s uncle froze and went pale, there was silence in the room. When nothing seemed amis, Uncle Robertos recovered, patted himself down, and checked to make sure he had all ten fingers and toes. “Hah! Is that all you’ve got halfbreed? Oh yes, I remember James telling me all about you. The half-sentient mutt that dimwit Dumbledore keeps on a leash to do his dirty work.”

Hagrid stood back up and tapped the umbrella on the stone floor of the hut, shaking off the travel dust from its pink ruffles. Then he lifted the umbrella up and held it in front of him like a fencing foil. “Never. Insult the good name of Albus Dumbledore in front of me again. Hornbill.”

This time Hannibal did not try to intervene on his uncle’s behalf. It was clear that Uncle Robertos had no information he was willing to share on the subject of Hannibal’s parents and family history. Perhaps Hagrid would be different. He certainly seemed more vested in Hannibal’s well being than his own family was. Smiling, Hannibal picked up one of the apples he’d been forbidden from touching earlier. He shined it on his shirt and settled in for the show.

The dinner theater was interrupted by the sudden shrieking of Hannibal’s aunt, who jumped to her feet and began pointing at her husband.

Hannibal watched in amazement as four pointed prongs began to grow out of his uncle’s head.

The fire iron clattered to the floor. “Uh, uh, uh,” Uncle Robertos whined as he grasped his new antlers in hands and tried to push them back into his skull. However, the more his uncle struggled, the larger the horns grew until they hit the roof and got tangled up in the rafters.

Hannibal bit into his apple disaffected and committed the sight to memory. Hornbill. Hah! It was a bit literal, but funny, and Hannibal wanted to treasure the moment always. It was his first taste of real magic. 

“That...was not supposed to happen. I meant to turn him into a chicken,” Hagrid winked at Hannibal. “Well, we best be going now. Much to do to get you ready for school. Also, I’d be appreciating it if you didn’t tell anyone at Hogwarts about yer uncle. We’re not supposed to cast magic on muggles, Hannibal.”

“Muggles?” Hannibal asked as Hagrid led him from the hut. 

“Non-magic persons. Blimey, you’re really as innocent as a newborn lamb, aren’t you? Oh well, that’s why yer going to school I suppose.”

Hannibal cast a withering look back at the cabin, which was receding rapidly into the darkness. Other children were innocent. Hannibal wasn’t. He had been deprived of that luxury. “Will he be okay?” Hannibal asked carefully, trying to sound concerned. He’d learned long ago that the way to get by in this world was to use every advantage including his youth. 

“Yer uncle? Oh for sure. Deer shed their antlers naturally. Although, I suspect he’ll want to saw off the new growth every fall for appearances sake.”

Hannibal’s took another bite out of his apple to hid his smile. Every fall? That sounded permanent. And good! If Hagrid knew even half of what the Hornbills had done to him, Hannibal doubted his uncle would have gotten off so easy. But Hannibal was eager to leave Lithuania and go to this school where he could learn to be as great a wizard as Hagrid. He kept quiet and followed meekly in the groundskeeper’s footsteps. He was a Lecter now. Hannibal Lecter and he had bigger fish to fry.

“Hagrid,” Hannibal said and tugged on Hagrid’s duster. “Can you tell me how they died? If it wasn’t a car crash, who killed them?” Because Hannibal could already tell from Hagrid’s manners that not only had they been murdered, it had been brutal too. The cordial man wouldn’t have lost his temper with Uncle Robertos if it had been anything else.

Hagrid stopped short. “You sure you want to know, Hannibal? It’s not pleasant.”

“I must,” he nearly hissed before catching himself. “Yes, I need to know, Hagrid. I need to know who I am. Surely you understand?” he said making his voice intentionally higher, like the bleating of a lamb. 

Hagrid turned around and knelt again before him so they were at eye level. “Your mother and father fought He Who Must Not Be Named, the same as Dumbledore and myself and many other decent folk. But then you came along. You surprised your parents, that’s for sure. They had another daughter already full grown, you see.”

“Mischa?” Hannibal said. He’d heard the name though he remembered none of them. His only memories of a time before Privet Drive were two fleeting images of blonde hair and a green light. 

“That’s right, your older sister Mischa. They went into hiding to protect you, all four of them, but then he came after you all. Only there was something about you that stumped him that night. Your parents and sister all died, but the next morning, there you were asleep in your cradle with the dark armies in retreat all over the world. That’s why you’re famous, Hannibal. You’re the boy who lived.”

“Hagrid, BUT WHO? Who killed my family?”” Hannibal interrupted growing increasingly more frustrated by this He Who Must Not Be Named business. “Perhaps you could write it out?” He suggested.

“Can’t spell it.” Hagrid sighed. “Once, I’ll say it once and never again so listen closely. His name was Vold...Vold—,”

“Hagrid.”

“VOLDEMORT!” Hagrid shouted then shivered and began looking around the footrest as if this Voldemort were lurking within every shadow.

“Voldemor—t,” Hannibal said pronouncing the name slowly exactly as Hagrid had said it. “But wouldn’t the t be silent? It’s French right?” Hannibal was fluent in French...and English, Italian, and Lithuania. He was still working on German though.

“I don’t care what it is! And now that you know, best keep it to yourself. Some say he died the night he came to kill you and your family. Nonsense I say. Don’t think he’s human enough to die all the way. I reckon he’s still out there, waiting for his opportunity to come back. Maybe even waiting for something to happen to you. So you best keep one eye open, Hannibal. There are a lot of good people in the world, but a lot bad too.”

“Hagrid, how will I know the good wizards from the bad?”

Hagrid picked himself off the ground and brush the leaves off his knees. “A clever boy like you? You’ll figure it out and do just fine at Hogwarts. But if you meet any of those Grahams, give the nearest one a good kick in the shins and keep walking. Not one good egg has ever been turned out by that lot. Not one!”

Hannibal nodded but pushed that information to the back of his mind. He could care less about the Grahams or any of their ilk. The eleven year old had more important worries in front of him. Hannibal had a name and mission now. 

Voldemort. The wizard who had murdered his family and taken everything from him. 

Voldemort. One day, he’d kill him.


	2. The Second Year

Hannibal woke to the sound of soft rustling at the foot of his bed where he kept his trunk of meager possessions and schoolbooks. He lay awake debating whether it was worth getting up to deal with this again. He knew it would be Price’s yellow rat Bumble. The third year student was forever losing her, but she seemed to always reappear in Hannibal’s orbit.

But it was cold and Hannibal had a quidditch tomorrow that he sorely needed to win for Ravenclaw to make up for the points lost due to his most recent tussle with that obnoxious imbecile, Will Graham. However, the thought of Bumble helping herself to Hannibal’s potions homework eventually drove him from the warmth of his bed. Cautiously, he crawled to the end of the bed, wand at the ready and a petrification spell on his lips, and threw back the curtains.

But it was not Bumble who was rummaging through his school things. Alana, Hannibal’s friend and fellow Ravenclaw, knelt over his open trunk searching for something.

“Ummm….can I help you, Alana?” Hannibal whispered, careful to not wake the other boys.

Alana shook her head vigorously then looked over her shoulder towards the door clearly contemplating making a break for it.

Hannibal set his wand down and reached over to close his trunk. “If you were looking for the invisibility cloak, all you had to do was ask.” He owned little of value other than the cloak, which his two best friends Alana and Margot both knew about. But Hannibal had believed this sort of behavior beneath Alana. “Did Margot put you up to this? Undoubtedly to perpetrate some retaliatory prank against whoever it was who had wronged her this time. Margot’s appetite for petty vengeance was something Hannibal admired though admittedly, it irritated him that Margot got away with it more often than he did. “I don’t keep it here, you understand? Too risky. Boys don’t respect each other’s stuff like girls do. Although, perhaps that way of thinking is a little outdated,” he said smiling as he tried to make a joke.

But Alana didn’t laugh and instead rose to leave without explanation.

Hannibal grabbed her hand and climbed out of bed. He wasn’t going to let her leave until he knew why she was acting so strange. An enchantment perhaps? Or was she starting to believe the rumors too—that Hannibal was the Heir of Slytherin. These were strange times at Hogwarts. Muggle born students had been attacked by someone or something claiming to be the heir of Salazar Slytherin’s legacy of intolerance. Everyone was on edge and looking for signs pointing to the identity of him or her so of course, they blamed the parselmouth, the ignorant clods. It was only here, in Ravenclaw Tower that Hannibal had felt safe from suspicion since his fellow Ravenclaws were at least literate and understood that the ability to speak parseltongue a special ability and nothing more. It did not automatically make him a super villain!

‘Except that Voldemort had been a parselmouth too’, he reminded himself and therein lay Hannibal’s problem. “The Boy Who Lived” had lived long enough to become “The Boy Who Wished To Curry Favor With He Who Must Not Be Named” and save his own skin when Voldemort returned. And he would return one day. Hannibal knew that first hand.

Rubbish. ‘I want to kill Voldemort, not become his servant.’

Alana gave a low moan, and Hannibal realized with alarm that his grip had tightened around her wrist with enough force to bruise. He relaxed some, but did not let go. He had to know what she was doing here. If Alana truly believed him to be the Heir, what chance did he have with other students? She was his friend. If she had turned against him, Hogwarts might no longer be safe for him.

There were other wizarding schools, sure, but none as fine as Hogwarts. Where else could learn what he needed to learn to defeat Voldemort? But beyond that: it was his home. The only home Hannibal had ever known. The thought of returning to the Hornbills filled him with cold dread.

“What are you doing here, Alana? I demand to know,” he said unable to keep the hurt and anger from his voice.

A kaleidoscope of emotions flinted across Alanna’s face. Panic, anger, and embarrassment were all ones he recognized, but there were about five others he didn’t know and had never seen on Alanna’s amiable face before such as spite and indecision. But before Hannibal could finish processing what was happening, Alana leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

Hannibal yelped in surprise and fell backwards into bed, dropping Alana’s hand in the process. She ran for it the moment she was free and was gone before the other boys in the dormitory rosed to full alertness.

“What’s wrong?” Brian Zeller, Price’s best friend, said.

“Nothing! Nothing’s wrong. It was Price’s rat again.” Hannibal said scrubbing his cheek with the back of his hand.

“You’ve seen Bumble?! Where is she?” Price asked cheerfully.

“Gone,” Hannibal snapped, his ears burning at having been tricked by so obvious a deception—and by Alana of all people. “Your bloody rat bit me,”

Price sighed. “I’m sorry, Hannibal.”

Hannibal took two deep breaths before responding in a more even tone. “Go back to sleep, all of you,” he ordered despite his junior status as a second year. The boys settled back into their beds, and soon the dormitory was quiet once more.

Hannibal pulled the sheets up to his neck and would have spent all evening fuming about how he had been tricked had it not begun to rain. The gentle rattle of the rain on the centuries-old glass windows of the dormitory lulled him into a shallow sleep where he dreamed of Alana’s condemnation and the searing heat of Voldemort’s green fire.

…

The next morning at breakfast, Hannibal found Alana and Margot waiting for him at their usual spot in the Great Hall.

“Uh-oh, here comes trouble. What’s wrong with you?” Margot said looking at him skeptically after he greeted Alana with a glare. You haven’t been fighting with Will again have you? We’ve already lost fifteen point this term because of you and him.”

“I have not lost—,” Hannibal stopped himself. Actually, he had already lost twenty points for Ravenclaw, which he intended to win back in their Quidditch match this afternoon, but no sense in correcting Margot on that point. “Maybe I would be in a better mood if somebody hadn’t woken me up last night,” he said and looked pointedly at Alana.

Alana tilted her head, her eyes wide and innocent. “What are you talking about, Hannibal?”

“You!” He said pointing his finger at her. Then to Margot, “She snuck into the boys dormitory last night and went through my trunk.”

Both Margot and Alana looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “That’s impossible, Hannibal, I would know. We were up all night together.”

“All night?” he countered finding that hard to believe.

”Yes. All night.” Margot repeated, them more quietly, she added. “I had another nightmare and Alana kept me company.”

Hannibal relaxed, his concern rising above his irritability, and let hand fall to to the table. “Your brother?” He asked and purposefully looked down at the basket of scones, which sat between them, in order to mask his true feelings from Margot. After Voldemort, Mason Verger was next on his list of mad dogs that needed to be put down. Like the Hornbills, the Vergers had not been kind to their youngest child. Unlike the Hornbills, the abuse had gone further than anything Hannibal had endured...much further. There was nothing Hannibal could do now, but one day, yes one day he’d be strong enough to pay Mason and their father back for what they had done to Margot.

“Let’s not talk about it anymore,” Margot said also hyper focusing on the basket of scones.

Silence fell across their table like a curse until Alana sighed and placed one scone each in front of each of them to relieve the tension. “Let’s take it from the top, everyone. Hannibal, tell us what you saw last night, and let’s see if we can’t get to the bottom of this.”

Hannibal looked at Alana appreciatively, and thought about apologizing for treating her so rudely. She was their keeper, their patience, and their conscience. He started over and told them everyone including the kiss.

“You did what?” Margot asked looking at Alana in shock and amusement.

“Not me!” Alana spluttered while waving her hands in front of her face like an umpire calling a player out. Like Hannibal, Alanna was not raised in the wizarding world. “The other me did! I would never —,”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t mince words, Alana. Tell us how you really feel about the thought of kissing me.”

Alana blushed. “I’m sorry, Hannibal. I didn’t mean to offend you, but gross! It would be like kissing my brother. Blech!”

Hannibal grinned. “It’s okay, Alana. I am only playing,” he said and reached across the for her hand.

She gave it. He squeezed it comfortingly. She squeezed back before releasing him, forgiveness granted by both sides. Hannibal would have forgiven her anyway, eventually, even there had been no imposter. Hannibal was of mixed ancestry, but both Alana’s parents were muggles. She fit the profile of the Heir’s victims and had every right to be worried for her safety. If she suspected Hannibal of being the Heir, he’d have been hurt, but he would have understood. These were dangerous timesavers.

Margot was still openly laughing at them both. “Well if she didn’t kiss you, who did?”

Hannibal frowned and looked over at the Slytherins' table. “I can think of at least one other person who has the means.”

Margot slapped her hand down on the table, all laughter gone from her face. “NO! Do not start this up again, Hannibal. It is too early in the year for your conspiracy theories.”

Hannibal fussed with his bags, which he did whenever he was irritated. “If you would just think about it for a minute instead of outright dismissing me you’d see that—“

“No! You are obsessed with Will Graham!” Margot said much too loudly. Over at the Slytherin table, Graham looked up from his breakfast where he sat with his best friends Beverly Katz and the young Hobbs girl and smirked in Hannibal’s direction.

Hannibal turned his body so he was straddling the bench and keeping his back turned to Will Graham. “If I’m right about him being a metamorphmagus, he’d have the means to do it.”

“To kiss you?” Margot said.

“To steal from me! I’m sure he knows about the invisibility cloak. Or suspects it at least after we snuck those pixies into their dormitory last year.”

Alana wore a stern and scholarly expression, and Hannibal knew she was gearing up for one of her annoyingly well-reasoned lectures. Margot was the brave one. Hannibal was the brains of their little trio, but Alana was their conscience, their reason, and their restraint. “Hannibal, we’re not saying you’re wrong—“

“I’m saying he’s wrong!” Margot interjected.

Alana sighed. “Fine. I’m not saying you’re wrong, but Hannibal, you need proof before accusing Will of something like that...again.”

“I have proof! We’ve all observed it! Sometimes his eyes look blue. Sometimes they look green. Sometimes they are—“

“Like I said, obsessed,” Margot gripped.

“They’ve been grey. They’ve been hazel,” Hannibal continued. “I swear they were even yellow once—but just around the rim.”

“That’s anecdotal evidence and you know it,” Alana countered.

“You won’t let me gather empirical evidence,” Hannibal fired back and fixed his hair again. Hannibal’s theory was that Will was using his abilities as a metamorphmagus to subtly change the color of his eyes...and torment Hannibal in the process!

“Because you’ll seem like a lunatic!” Margot said waving her hands over her head “For Merlin’s sake, Hannibal, even if he was a metamorphmagus, you seem to think the only reason he does it is to piss you off.

Hannibal said nothing and in saying nothing, said everything.

“Moving on,” Alana said calmly “it does sound like you have a problem, but I think we should be thinking about Polyjuice, not looking for an unregistered metamorphmagus, which would be much a rarer occurrence and thus an unlikely culprit.

Hannibal didn’t mention that it had been over fifty years since there was another parselmouth born to the wizarding world. Now, there were at least two, Hannibal and the Heir. Why not a metamorphmagus too? But mentioning the Heir of Slytherin where anyone might hear him was too risky given the current campaign against him. “You think Graham used a Polyjuce Potion to break into the boys dormitory?”

Margot groaned and started to rise. “I’m leaving. I haven’t slept enough to deal with this.”

Alana grabbed Margot by the elbow and pulled her back down into her seat. “I think what Margot is trying to say, Hannibal, is that you’re not the most popular person right now with everyone thinking you’re the Heir. Someone else might have wanted to go through your stuff. Someone’s whose intentions might not be as malicious as you assume Will Graham’s to be?”

“Someone who is trying to stop me from killing the muggle born?” He said acknowledging the hippogriff in the room.

Alana’s eyes widened. “Shhhh!” She hissed convincingly enough that someone ought to accuse her of being a parselmouth. But no one would ever accuse Alana being the Heir, not sweet, doe-like Alana. Not when there was a confirmed killer in their midst….himself.

It had happened last year, at the end of the term. Hannibal had not been intending to kill Quirrell for control of the philosopher’s stone. He’d only wanted to push Quirrel off him before the former Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher could choke the life from him. But neither Hannibal, Quirrell, or Voldemort had counted on the protective magic that apparently still coursed through his veins—a remnant from the night his parents died. Although James and Lily were gone, their love had left its mark on him in the form of a powerful counter-curse that prevented Voldemort, or any body he inhabited from laying a hand on Hannibal. When Hannibal had touched the fingers wrapped around his throat, Quirrell’s hand began to blister and burn. Initially, the professor had leaped back howling in pain and fear, but spurred on by Voldemort’s powerful dark magic, Quirrell had lunged again.

It felt strange remembering that day. So much of the fight was lost in the haze of adrenaline. But that one moment, the moment when Hannibal threw his hands up and caught Quirrell's face between them, that moment was etched into his mind with acid. Like before, the flesh beneath Hannibal’s hands bubbled under a heat he could only see but not feel. But this time, when Quirrel tried to pull away, Hannibal had held on.

“Are you going to eat your scone?” Margot asked.

Hannibal broke free from his memories and found Margot and Alana looking at him worriedly. He shook his head and handed the pastry to her.

“You should eat,” Alana said. “We can’t afford to lose the match to Slytherin today.”

“I won’t lose to him,” Hannibal snapped and turned towards Will’s table. “Some of us earned our place on the quidditch pitch through skill.”

Will looked up from his breakfast and smiled at the trio; however, it was not a warm or friendly expression that the “blue”-eyed boy wore. It was smug and prideful, a clear challenge between adversaries.

“He’s cast an eavesdropping charm on us again, hasn’t he?” Hannibal commented.

“Of course he has! With you snarling after him 24/7, why wouldn’t he? Will wouldn’t give you half as much trouble as if you just ignored him.” Margot said with an exaggerated roll of her eyes.

“He probably thinks you are the Heir too.” Alanna suggested. “He could just be trying to help.”

Hannibal turned his back to Will Graham and drew his wand from his pocket. He muttered a spell and waved the ash wand over his head in a circle creating a pocket of protected space for their conversations in case and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Alana was probably right about Will Graham thinking that he was the Heir—him and three out of four houses at Hogwarts. Hannibal didn’t mind that she was right. He minded that it was all coming down to this again: the popular theory that he was the Heir of Slytherin. It bothered him more than it should. He knew perfectly well that he was not the Heir. What irritated and unnerved him was the thought that there might be some deficiency in his character that fed this popular rumor—one he was blind to. What did the whole school know that he didn’t? It had to be more than his ability to speak parseltongue. What’s wrong with me? Why am I the villain instead of the title character? Hannibal didn’t want to be the bad guy in this narrative. He wanted to kill the bad guys. Certainly there wasn’t a wrong with that. He thought about Quirrell again. He’d felt so alive when it was happening, when the power of his mother’s counter curse poured out of him and tore through the doomed professor’s body. Maybe that had been wrong, Quirrell was evil. Wasn’t riding the world of evil, good?

They’re still human, he reminded himself. That he knew all too well. Quirrel had pleaded for his life until his lips burned off. But Hannibal had not let go. He never even considered it. Voldemort had been there too laughing at him until the very moment that flames erupted from his host’s body and the pound of flesh that was once Professor Quirrell crumbled to ash.

“Hannibal, are you alright?”

Hannibal got up and grabbed a scone for the road to appease Alana. “I’m fine, but can we finish this later? I need to get ready for the match.”

“The library then. After you’ve beaten Slytherin,” she said.

“AFTER you've showered, pig. Now go kick the crap out of your boyfriend over there,” Margot said making a kissing motion towards the Slytherin table.

“Ugh! Margot! Stop!” At twelve Hannibal had no interest in kissing anyone—especially not Will Graham.

Alana and Margot giggled and bent their heads toward each other whispering conspiratorially. Hannibal left them to the silliness, pink in the cheeks with anger and embarrassment.

….

The noise level was beyond description as the two teams shook hands on the quidditch pitch. Everyone came to watch the match, even the Ravenclaws who, in years prior, had always had the lowest rate of attendance of any house regardless of standing. But in his first year as Seeker for the team, Hannibal had taken Ravenclaw from fourth to first in the rankings. His abilities, when combined with his celebrity status, gave his classmates enough of a reason to take a break from studying.

Things were different this year….thanks to the Grahams. William Graham the elder had bought the entire Slytherin team a Nimbus 3000 at the start of the school year in exchange for a guaranteed place on the team for his son. Even more annoyingly, his son was actually quite good as a Seeker—barely trailing behind Hannibal in terms of skill and speed. It was annoying. Everything Will Graham did was annoying. On the quidditch pitch. In their coursework. Everywhere Hannibal looked, Will seemed to be always right there nipping at his heels.

Hannibal sighed. Maybe Margot was right. Maybe he was unnecessarily focused on Graham. ‘I’m probably bored. Maybe Professor Dumbledore will let me take additional coursework next term to distract me.’

Madam Hooch blew the whistle signaling the start of the match. All students leaped onto their brooms and kicked off from the ground. Below, their flying professor was releasing each ball one by one: first the bludgers; then the quaffle; and finally the snitch itself. Graham dove for it immediately. Hannibal chased after him and cut him off before Will could end the game before it has even begun. Both boys lost sight of the snitch in that moment and now sat facing each other—half-hovering, half-circling each other like sharks.

Hannibal spoke first. He always spoke first when they paired off. Graham was…well, shyer wasn’t the right word for it. He was more hesitant with his words and chose them carefully. Every simple sentence was made more complex by the unique personality, point of view, and agenda Will Graham brought to it. It was his most irritating feature of them all.

“Everyone is expecting a show, Graham! We wouldn’t want to disappoint our fans.” Hannibal taunted.

Graham looked like a thunderstorm today—his eyes grey and furious. “I don’t have time for this,” he spat and wheeled his broom away, rising higher into the air to get a better view of the entire field.

Hannibal mirrored the strategy, but chose the opposite side of the pitch. Graham clearly didn’t want to play today, which suited him just fine.

Thrice more, Graham caught sight of the snitch only to cut off by either Hannibal or an errant bludger. Hannibal saw it only once in that same time, which vexed him. Graham was a good Seeker, but not normally this good. He was playing like a man on fire today. What did he have to lose that he didn’t before? Or had he somehow found a way to cheat?

It was actually when Hannibal was most distracted that the snitch made its sixth appearance of the day. While he was drifting above the field considering the implications and applications of locator spells in quidditch, the bauble popped up, hovering for mere centimeters from his nose. Hannibal could have ended the game right there had he been paying more attention. However, by the time he registered what was happening, the snitch was on the move again. Hannibal chased after it, weaving dangerously through the crowded field of beaters, chasers, and bludgers.

But it was the Slytherin Seeker he should have kept closer tabs on.

Will Graham swooped in on his blindside and slammed into him, the jolt nearly knocking him from his broom. Hannibal gripped the handle of his Nimbus tighter and pushed back. Cries of approval and outrage rose from the crowd as the two seekers wrestled for positioning while the snitch kept just out of arm's reach.

Hannibal glanced disapprovingly at Graham, a quip about unsportsmanlike conduct on his lips, but his words died on the wind. Graham’s eyes smoldered—literally smoldered—the irises of his eyes having turned a molten gold like lava. Had Hannibal not already suspected Graham of having hidden talents, the trick might have startled him, but Hannibal had been waiting for the day when he witnessed incontrovertible truth that Graham was a metamorphmagus. Plus, after you’ve witnessed a man burn to ash from the inside out, Graham’s little eye trick lacked all shock value.

Unruffled by Graham’s tricks, Hannibal took the opportunity to play dirty himself. The concentration required to keep control of one’s broomstick and maintain an illusion like this would have been a lot for young metamorphmagus like Graham. He never even saw Hannibal’s kick coming.

Graham’s broom rolled and dumped the boy onto the ground.

With Graham temporarily disposed of, Hannibal pressed forward closing the gap between himself and the snitch until at last, he felt the weight of the gold bauble press against the palm of his hand. He tightened his fist around the snitch and rose triumphantly into the air, holding it a loft. Cheers (and jeers) rose from the stands as Hannibal took a victory lap around the snitch before floating gracefully down to the ground.

As he dismounted his broom, he saw Graham stomping towards him more furious than Hannibal had ever seen him.

“What’s the matter, Grah—,”

Before Hannibal could finish the question; however, Graham had thrown the first punch. The force of it knocked Hannibal to the ground.

It took a minute to register what had happened. Graham had hit him? Actually hit him in front of the entire school? It was madness. No amount of money would get Graham out of trouble this time. Hannibal smiled into the dirt tasting blood in his mouth. If he lay here like the football players did, maybe he could even make it worse for Graham. Maybe he would even be expelled. Wouldn’t that make life easier? A life without Will Graham. It would be heaven.

Will grabbed him by the collar of his uniform and dragged him to his feet. “Is it you?” He growled. “Are you the Heir?”

Hannibal was still feigning shock for the most part as he stood limply in Graham’s arms; however, some of that was genuine. For all their sniping at each other, it had never come to blows before. “Pardon?” He asked trying to look dazed. He was curious though why a Slytherin would be so upset as to punch even the theoretical Heir. Wasn’t the Heir supposed to be their side. The Slytherins hated the muggle born!

Graham’s eyes turned to fire again in his rage, a flicker only, before simmering down to a cold, spiteful blue. “Tell me!” He shouted as his teammates arrived and began pulling him off Hannibal before the young Seeker cost Slytherin any more House points.

“If you hurt her, Lecter, I’ll kill you! You hear me!? I’LL KILL YOU!” Graham continued to shout as he was pulled forcefully from the field.

The Ravenclaw team laughed and cheered as the Slytherin‘s left in disgrace. Anthony Hopkins, the teams quidditch Captain, clapped Hannibal on the shoulder. “Good show, Hannibal. Graham may even have to sit out a couple of games after that little row. Way to get under his skin.” Hopkins said approvingly.

Hannibal frowned. He was still hoping for expulsion, but Hopkins was right. At most, Graham would probably get a weeks worth of detention and sit out the next two games, which was disastrous for Slytherin but only a mild improvement in Hannibal’s life. Ah well, maybe next time. Hannibal rubbed at his aching jaw. Maybe next time he’d be the one throwing the punches. ‘Only I won’t be caught,’ he promised himself.

The Ravenclaw team began filing off the field in an orderly line, and were met by Professor Flitwick in the equipment room. “Hannibal Lecter,” Flitwick said waving his arms in the air to be noticed. “I need to you come with me this instant. Me. Hopkins will see to your gear.”

Hopkins nodded cordially and relieved Hannibal if his broom. Hannibal fussed with his bangs as he followed behind the charms Professor and departed for the castle. Hopkins was a good mate, but he hated to be parted from his things stemming from the fact that until recently he had never had things he could rightly call his own. His broom, which he suspected was a gift from Flitwick, was one of his most precious possessions next to the invisibility cloak. Only Margot had ever been permitted to handle it before today. If Hopkins out one scratch on it, he’d….

“This way Mr. Lecter,” Professor Flitwick said ushering him into the Madame Pomfrey’s medical ward.

“Professor, if this is about earlier, I assure you I’m fine,” Hannibal protested realizing that even if his play acting on the field had been good enough to fool Flitwick, there was no way he’d fool Madame Pompfrey expert eye and judgement. He could be serving detention alongside Graham, which wouldn’t be any fun.

Okay...maybe it would be a little fun to torture him so more provided Graham didn’t land any more punches. He was alarmingly strong for such lean frame.

“It’s not that, Mr. Lecter. It’s….I’m sorry,” Dr. Flitwick pulled back a privacy curtain that had been blocking their view of the nearest bed.

Alana, sweet and patient Alana, lay of her back as rigid as stone. In her hand she held a small silver mirror, that was strange, as was her facial expression. Alana was many things—smart, funny, and steadfast—but a coward was not one of them. On her face however...terror, primal and ugly.

“No,” Hannibal said breathless. He cautiously approached the table and tentatively lay two fingers against her cheek. The flesh had no give. She was like marble to touch, but her skin was warm. He moved his hand down her face and neck looking for the pulse point. He found nothing…

“She lives,” Flitwick assures him.

“Who…,” Hannibal said coldly and with authority, and astoundingly, Flitwick responded to the command without fuss though Hannibal was merely a student and only a second year at that.

“We don’t know. We must assume that she is the same as the others.

Hannibal’s lip curled over his top incisors, and his lungs filled with air to shout that Alana was nothing like the others. She was worth twice any other student excluding himself. She was his friend. But at that moment, Madame Pomfrey and Albus Dumbledore entered the medical ward and walked towards them.

“When and where?” Hannibal asked hurriedly sensing the power dynamic about to shift.

Flitwick must have sensed it too and adjusted his bow tie and waistcoat before answering. “She was found in the library as for when...we were hoping you could help us with that, Mr. Lecter. When did you last see Ms. Bloom?”

Hannibal bristled. ‘E tu, Professor?’ So even Flitwick, head of his own house, suspected him of being the Heir? Merlin’s beard, this could spell trouble. It would be difficult to identify Alana’s attacker with the professors watching his every move, invisibility cloak or no. “I saw her this morning in the Great Hall for breakfast. We were going to meet later in the library to study for our potions exam.”

Flitwick seemed unsurprised and no wonder. “Yes, Ms. Verger confirmed your alibis shortly before you arrived,” he added a moment later.

Hannibal’s fist clenched. They were interrogating him like a condemned criminal. What nerve! ‘But I’m not the Heir,’ he repeated to himself. ‘I wouldn’t do this to the innocent.’

But even Hannibal was starting to doubt his own character. Flitwick, after all, had nothing to do with Voldemort or Gus revenge, but for a brief moment, Hannibal had felt like cursing him all the same for his common discourtesy. Maybe the Sorting Hat had been wrong. Maybe he would have been better in Slytherin like he’d asked to be originally. But the Hat had refused and placed him in Ravenclaw instead. And the hat was allegedly never wrong.

“Where is Margot?” Hannibal asked forcing the words out evenly and without noticeable strain...he hoped.

“Here!” Margot’s contralto voice said from behind. Her tear-streaked face peaked out from around Madame Pomfrey’s robes. When she saw Hannibal she took off running for him.

Hannibal squared his hips and braced for impact as Margot reached him. She threw her arms around his neck and wept fresh tears into his shoulder.

“It’ll be okay, Margot,” he whispered rubbing her shoulders a they embraced.

“She’s alive. We can be thankful for that,” Madame Pomfrey said and when this did not stop Margot’s tears added, “and in a few weeks, the mandrakes will have matured and you will all be reunited.”

“Just in time for final exams. Though without Ms. Bloom, you two will want to spend extra time in the library I suspect,” Dumbledore winked.

Hannibal looked up at the headmaster, his reluctant ally of the last two years. He would never directly tell Hannibal to break the rules, but it was Professor Dumbledore who had set him on the path that eventually lead to Quirrell and the Philosopher's stone. “Is there anything more specific we can do to help,” he asked.

Following Professor Dumbledore’s trail of breadcrumbs had been fine last year when Hannibal was new and naive enough about the wizarding world to think that he little to lose. Even if Hagrid had been wrong, and Hannibal had not been a very good wizard, he had a name, Voldemort, and enough gold and celebrity status to continue pursuing his revenge on his own. But things were different now. Hannibal’s arm tightened around Margot. He had things money could not buy.

Professor Dumbledore shook his head. “I’m afraid not, son. The Heir, whoever he or she, may be remains well hidden. Until the Heir is caught and brought to justice, keep your eyes open and try not to travel alone at night,” he said although it was school policy that students were not allowed out of their dormitories at night—unless one had an invisibility cloak.

Hannibal nodded and swallowed this breadcrumb, bitter as it was. He didn’t like being anyone’s bloodhound even if Professor Dumbledore’s intentions were just, but he would do it...for Alana.

“Hannibal…can we go? I don’t like to see her like this.” Margot sniffled.

“Of course, Margot. Professors,” he said excusing himself from their prescience. He kept one arm around Margot’s shoulders as he escorted her from the Medical Wing, sheltering her like he assumed a big brother would.

Hannibal didn’t look back as they left. He didn’t need to. He had already committed to memory the sight of Alana’s body lying rigid on the hospital bed so that it would always be there...for the next time he needed to kill.


	3. The Chamber of Secrets: Part 1

Hannibal and Margot spent every spare moment in the library looking for some clue that would lead them to the identity of the Heir. It became an obsession to the point that both their grades and quidditch scores were starting to slip. But the professors were giving them leeway on account of the tragedy that had befallen their friend and so many others.

The Heir’s body count had tripled, the attacks coming in sounders of three. No one had died, by some miracle, but there was talk of closing Hogwarts for the safety of the muggle-born students before year-end. Only the old families, who refused to prioritize the safety of a few students over the education of their pure-born children, were keeping Hogwarts open for now. But the situation was bad, and getting worse all the time. Students ate their meals in their common rooms after the Great Hall was needed as an auxiliary hospital wing.

Weeks passed and he and Margot were still no closer to discovering the truth. They had theories, sure— plenty of them—mainly about the Heir’s chosen weapon, petrification. But nothing concrete enough to take to Professor Dumbledore. There were half a dozen potions that would do the job, a few curses, and a bestiary full of monsters who possessed the ability like Gorgons or Basilisks. The later two had been Hannibal’s favorite, but Margot had quickly ruled that out.

“It just doesn’t make sense, Hannibal, how does a creature that large go unnoticed for all these years AND collect enough food to sustain itself? No one can build a stasis box that large. It just can’t be done.”

Hannibal had looked into it regardless and even tried building one of his own. But after setting his trunk on fire twice and wasting countless hours researching a dead end, was forced to conclude that Margot had been right from the beginning. 

Which left them with curses and potions and a new problem to solve. Anything useful would undoubtedly be kept in the Restricted Section. As first years, they had foolishly attempted to sneak a peek using only Hannibal’s invisibility cloak, which resulted in disaster and nearly landed all three of them in detention together. This time, Hannibal and Margot were applying themselves to the challenge of cracking through the wards protecting the Restricted Section with spellwork. 

It was slow going, the charms were among the most advanced he or Margot had ever seen, but they were making progress.

At night, after Margot had gone to sleep, Hannibal would return to the library alone or simply wander the halls hoping to catch the bastard in the act. He knew he shouldn’t be alone, being half-muggle himself, and Professor Dumbledore had explicitly warned him not to. But these late night excursions helped cool his brain, which had become split in two and consumed with revenge. Revenge for Alana against the Heir. Revenge for his parents and sister against Voldemort. He half-longed for the simple distraction of Will Graham, who had given him a wide-berth following their rowe on the Quidditch Pitch and brief suspension.

Hannibal was just wrapping up tonight’s sojourn when he was stopped by the distressed voice of Professor Du Maurier. “Quick!” She hissed. “Fetch the headmaster immediately. A student has been taken into the Chamber!”

Hannibal’s ears perked up and he began to fret without Margot at his side where he could be sure of her safety. ‘Stop being an idiot,’ he scolded himself. ‘The Vergers are a pure-blooded family and as old as they come. The Heir would have no use for her.’ 

Unless he or she had grown annoyed with the children of high born families who had willingly chosen to befriend the muggleborn like Hannibal and Alana. Hannibal quickened his steps. 

He rounded the corner nearly barreling into Professor Flitwick, who looked nearly petrified himself. And for good reason. It was a grim sight that greeted Hannibal. 

Fresh blood dripped from the walls spelling out a new and terrible message from the Heir. (Get the quote.)

“Terrible! Simple terrible! What will we do Bedelia?”

“Wake the Dumbledore. Immediately. And find someone to rouse young Master Graham. He should be told of this.”

“But what of the girl?”

“What else can we do? The girl will be rescued alive or she will not.”

Hannibal’s mind was whirling. Graham? What did Will Graham have to do with this? But he did not have time to ponder further. Professor Du Maurier was no longer looking at the wall or the Heir’s bloody penmanship. She was looking at him although she could not possibly know he was there, eavesdropping through his invisibility cloak.

Or maybe she could?

Hannibal knew fuck all about invisibility cloaks up until a year ago. Was there a spell? Or an enchanted item in her possession that served as an early warning device. Hannibal had no desire to stay and find out. He retreated and returned to his dormitory without detour lest Professor Du Maurie, who was head of Slytherin House, order a bed check. He would solve the mystery of Will Graham tomorrow.

…

Or not.

Graham wasn’t in Potions that morning or Flying Lessons in the mid-afternoon.

“You don’t think he’s the Heir?” Margot whispered over the stack of books in front of her.

“It didn’t sound like it. It sounded like he was in on the investigation.”

“Maybe he’s Professor Du Maurie’s bloodhound? Like how Dumbledore uses you.” She offered.

Hannibal pushed his chair away from the table and leaned back, balancing on only two legs while he contemplated that most interesting theory. “I suppose. It would certainly be useful having a metamorphmagus in your pocket to do your snooping for you.”

“Do not even start, Hannibal!” 

Out of respect for their friendship, Hannibal dropped the subject...for the time being.

Several hours later, after dinner, Hannibal and Margot parted ways. She liked to visit Alana in the evenings, which Hannibal found uncomfortable. Alana didn’t seem merely petrified to him. She seemed dead lying there so cold and lifeless. Thankfully, Margot never pressed him to join her on these visitations, and they were both happier for it. 

But on his way back to the dungeons that night, Hannibal saw something impossible. Under the copper glow of a torch, down a narrow side corridor, Alana stood looking alert and alive...wearing boys clothing. 

“Alana?” He said too shocked to think clearly.

Alana flipped her hair over her shoulder and smiled sardonically, and Hannibal recognized her as the imposter of several months ago. 

“You,” he sneered and reached for his wand.

Alana turned suddenly and bolted down the corridor disappearing into the darkness. Hannibal bounded after her afraid he’d lose her a second time.

But lose her he did. The corridor led him to a small naturally lit alcove with no exit—and no Alana either. 

“Up here,” a male voice hissed from above.

Hannibal looked up. There in a window high above him, lounged Graham with his feet propped up against the frame.

“How smug do you feel right now?” Graham said looking down at Hannibal with bemusement.

“So it’s true. You are a metamorphmagus.” Hannibal said with delayed excitement. 

“Oh, it’s true. And damn annoying that I can’t tease you about it anymore,” Graham said as he swung his feet around and dropped to the floor as graceful as a cat.

“I knew it!” Hannibal exclaimed, unsure whether he was more delighted about being right about Graham’s abilities or the fact that he had been intentionally tormenting Hannibal with his gift for almost two years. 

“Yeah, yeah. You’re right—not that you were able to prove it on your own,” Graham sneered.

That shut Hannibal up and significantly wounded his pride.”Why now?” But the pieces clicked into place before Graham could answer. “Abigail Hobbs. That’s what this is all about isn’t it?”

Graham's pale eyes widened. “You know?” He said at first disbelieving. Then, his face transformed into an animated snarl. “Of course you know. Why wouldn’t you?” Graham ran his hand through his hair which changed suddenly along with the rest of his features. It straightened and grew lighter until Hannibal was looking at a mirror image of himself. “You’re the boy who lived. The great Hannibal Lecter! What don’t you know?”

Interestingly, Graham’s voice hadn’t changed, but Hannibal was no less impressed and stood openly gaping. “Incredible. I’ve never seen anything like it. And you can look like anyone?”

“Hey! Focus.” Graham snapped his fingers in front of Hannibal’s nose like he was disciplining a dog, and just like that, Will Graham was back in his own body.

Too late, his curiosity untethered, an amalgam of questions spilled out of Hannibal. “Why show yourself now? Who is Abigail Hobbs to you? What are you trying to accomplish?” 

Graham rolled his eyes. “Ravenclaws. Always so many questions and never the right ones.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Who? What? Why? “When,” Hannibal. “When” is the only question that matters.”

Hannibal frowned. Slytherins. Always so superior for no discernible reason except that they felt it was somehow owed to them. But Hannibal knew how to deal with a narcissist (as something of a narcissist himself.) You humored them in order to turn them to your way of thinking. “Fine. When am I helping you?” ‘And what’s in it for me?’ he felt like adding, but somehow restrained himself.

“Tonight. Get your invisibility cloak and return here after the evening meal.”

Hannibal narrowed his eyes. “How do you know about—,”

“As I’ve already told you, those questions don’t matter. And there isn’t any time. Listen, I’ve found a way into the Chamber of Secrets, but I need your help getting there.”

Hannibal crosses his arms. “No. Do you think I’m stupid? Even if you’re telling the trough, I’m not walking into the lair of Salazar Slytherin's with my mortal enemy.”

Graham sighed. “I’m not your mortal enemy, Hannibal. I don’t like you. But what I feel about you isn’t hatred. I get my fill of that at home. I just think you’re a prick. And overrated.”

“None of this makes me want to work with you.”

“Then think about this,” Graham said transforming again into Alana. “Think about her. Yes, she’ll be unpetrified soon, but it won’t end there. The Heir doesn’t want witches like her at Hogwarts. She won’t be safe here until the Heir is dead.”

Hannibal raised an eyebrow. “You…mean to kill the heir?”

Graham lingered in Alana’s body. “I mean to rescue Abigail, but I’ll do what I must. Will you?”

Hannibal struggled not to laugh. Graham thought him squeamish. Good. That meant Hannibal had a surprise of his own to keep in his back pocket. He reached into one of the voluminous interior pockets of his school robes. He pulled forth the invisibility cloak, which spilled from his pockets like molten silver. “When do we leave?”


	4. The Chamber of Secrets: Part 2

“The Chamber of Secrets is inside the girls' bathroom?” Hannibal asked incredulously.

“Shhh,” Graham said sharply as they ducked around two students who were exiting at a run. 

“Why couldn’t you know….just…go in? You’ve impersonated girls before.”

This time Graham elbowed him in the ribs...hard.

“Ouch!” Hannibal yelped, rubbing his side.

“Will. You. Shut. Up. Hannibal.” Graham said through gritted teeth as they carefully checked each stall to confirm that they were alone before casting off the cloak.

“All I’m saying is that you don’t seem to need me.”

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” Graham snapped, his eyes growing as dark as Hannibal’s as he mirrored his earlier words. Hannibal wondered if that was intentional or if Will’s abilities were something he sometimes lost control of when he was overwhelmed or angry. “Do you really think I’d want to spend any amount of time in your company if it wasn’t necessary?”

Hannibal opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off before he could clap back by a booming female voice. 

“Willy, is that you?” the voice said before the ghost of Moaning Myrtle exploded out of a toilet splashing both boys with what Hannibal hoped was clean water. “You haven’t come to see me in ages. WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?”

“Evening, Myrtle,” Graham said, all smiles for her.

“Who’s your friend,” Myrtle asked as she floated around Hannibal in a circle stalking him like a shark. 

“He’s not my friend, but may it please you to meet Hannibal Lecter, the brat who lived.”

“Helloooooo, Hanni,” Myrtle wailed before shooting up into the air to perform a cartwheel over their heads. “And what brings you two to my bathroom tonight?”

“We’re looking for someone. Abigail. I’m sure you know her.”

“Nooooooo. Poor, sweet, Abigail. I heard this morning. Gone. Gone. Gone.” Myrtle’s ghost floated back down to earth and began slowly sinking into the tile consumed by grief. 

“No! Myrtle! Myrtle, listen to me! We’re going to save her. And you’re going to help.” Graham said frantically trying to get her attention before she disappeared into the ground completely.

“I’m going to help Hannibal Lecter?” She asked, her transparent tears already dry. 

Hannibal rubbed his face trying to hide his smile with the palm of his hand.   
Graham’s eyebrow twitched. “Yes.”

“Whooooohoooo!” Myrtle vaulted back into the air like a rocket. “Won’t those nasty girls who always tease me be so jealous?! What must I do, Hanni?”

Hannibal smiled at Graham, who was barely keeping a lid on his temper, and shrugged performatively. “Looks like someone had a new favorite.”

“Just keep everyone out of the bathroom.” Graham sounded like he had just swallowed a fistful of lemon drops.

But Myrtle looked at Hannibal.

“That would be very helpful, Myrtle,” Hannibal said backing Will’s play. 

“Sure! Anything for you, Hanni,” Myrtle winked as she departed to stand guard at the entrance.

With Myrtle gone maybe Hannibal resolved to get some answers. “Now, do you mind telling why we are here and what this is all about, Graham?” 

“Come here,” Graham ordered and pointed at the nearest sink.

“No. I’m not taking another step until you start talking. How do I know this is not another Slytherin trap?”

“You’ve already asked three question! Which one am I supposed to start on!? This is why Ravenclaws annoy me. You get so caught up in your quest for knowledge, you forget to do anything with it!”

Hannibal crosses his arms remaining silent and very still.

“Okay, I’ll answer one question then you come here. Even Stevens, Hannibal.”

Hannibal thought about that. Two-to-one would have been preferable. They couldn’t possibly get through all his questions before the Heir of Slytherin smote them both. But curiosity often moved him to do things that were bad for his long term health. Why should breaking into the Chamber of Secrets be anything else? “Fine. Who is Abigail Hobbs to you?” 

Graham sighed. “My sister. My half-sister.”

“What?” Hannibal could almost see it. They had the same mouse brown hair and wind-chafed skin except for one problem: “But...she’s one of the muggleborn,” he said astounded. And Garrett Graham was one of the most vocal anti-muggle politicians in the Ministry of Magic. 

“Scandalous. I know. My father became quite the Tom Cat after my…mother went to Azkaban. Even went so far as to compel a few muggle-women to sleep with him if they were pretty enough. But then one of them got pregnant, and for some reason, he allowed her to keep the child. I think it’s because Abigail provides him with insurance in the event I turn out to be a disappointment.” It was a peculiar blend of emotions that peppered Graham’s response. Disdain for his father. A softness towards Abigail. And as for his mother…the death eater, Hannibal thought Graham might have cracked a tooth merely mentioning her. 

“Does she live with you?”

Graham shook his head. “No. But she and I communicate by—wait. Oh, no, you don’t! I said you got ONE question. Now come here and look. This is the entrance.”

Hannibal joined Graham in front of the circular stand of sinks at the back of the room and was directed to an imperfection on one of the faucets, which on closer inspection turned out to be the embossed facsimile of a snake. 

“The crest of Slytherin House,” Hannibal observed.

“No, the crest of Salazar Slytherin. Look at the lack of ornamentation. There are no leaves. No flourishes. Salazar’s style was starker and more militant by comparison than the rest of the founding families of Hogwarts, which means he put this mark here himself. I’m sure of it.”

Hannibal frowned.The theory lacked substance but it was better than any of his other leads, and different. It might be working humoring Graham a little longer. “How do we get in?”

“For once, I’m glad you asked! I’ve tried every spell I could think of except blasting it open. But then I remembered that Salazar was a parselmouth like you...and the Heir.”

“Allegedly. We don’t know that the Heir of Slytherin is a parselmouth. It’s only a legend.” Hannibal corrected, remembering that it was not too long ago that Graham had publicly accused him of being the Heir of Slytherin and perpetrator of these attacks. “Wait, is that why you punched me? You thought I had kidnapped your sister?”

“Can you blame me?”

Hannibal stared at him flatly.

Graham rolled his eyes. “Right. Of course you can. What was I thinking? Anyway, that’s where you come in. The ability is so rare, happening only once in a generation maybe and typically follows bloodlines. What better way to hide the Chamber of Secrets than closing it off to all but your ancestors?” 

“So what do you want me to say?”

“Who the hell knows, Snake Boy. “Open” maybe?”

“What!? “You mean you don’t know? I thought you had a plan?” There were a lot of inaccurate stereotypes about the four Houses that Hannibal didn’t prescribe to, but it was alarming how illogical the other tree seemed to be. 

“This is my plan! How on earth would I know what a centuries old parselmouth would use as a password!?”

“And your first thought was ‘open’?” Hannibal said aghast. 

Graham pulled back his robes and placed his hands on cocked hips. “Look, it should come as no surprise that creativity isn’t a skill that is nurtured in my father’s household. Be happy I got us this far. Now, make like a snake and….,” his brow furrowed, losing the thought. He raised a hand and waggled his fingers at Hannibal though Hannibal could not for the life of him guess what he meant by it.

“For future reference “slyther in” would have been acceptable if a banal way to end that sentence.” Hannibal said turning his back on the village idiot as he commanded the Chamber of Secrets to open and added “because Will Graham is a tosser” simply because he felt like it. A seam appeared in the marble above the mirror above the sink and shimmied left revealing a dark stairwell that led down into the bowels of the castle. 

“Lumos,” Graham said. He ignited his wand and pushed Hannibal out of the way without so much as a thank you.

Hannibal glared at Will’s retreating back before lighting the tip of his own wand and following his classmate into the darkness. As annoyed as Hannibal was by the slight, he reminded himself that this was all for Graham’s sister. Hannibal had never met Mischa, true. But he liked to think that he would have been as devoted as Graham was to Abigail. Since arriving at Hogwarts Hannibal had learned that he and Mischa had both been top of their class and Seekers for their house quidditch teams. There were even pictures. Mischa zipping around the quidditch pitch taunting her opponents with the same blonde hair and straw-like bangs that were always in her eyes too. Mischa dancing with the current Ministers only son, Barty Crouch. Mischa receiving her Head Girl badge from Dumbledore, in her immaculately pressed Slytherin robes. That was the only difference between them. The Sorting Hat had not stopped her from becoming a Slytherin…

“Graham, wait up!” Hannibal shouted when he realized he’d lost sight of Graham’s light in the winding caverns beneath the castle. 

“No,” returned Graham’s voice from the shadows. “Not until you stop calling me that.”

“Of all the ridiculous--what should I call you then?” Hannibal shouted back.

“Graham is my father’s name. Call me Will.”

“Well then...Will...get back here or I’m leaving, and I’ll order the door to close behind me as I go,” he threatened. Unsurprisingly, Will reappeared a minute later. 

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” Will said acting like the only reason he’d come back was to tease Hannibal some more. 

“Why do you hate your father so much?” Hannibal would kill to still have a father, literally kill. He might even settle for as little as much for a genuine memory of his own to hang on to. All he had of his parents were the memories of others.

Graham….Will, balled his free hand into a fist. “He’s the one who hates me because I’m…,” Will swallowed hard. “Can we talk about something else?”

“Fine, fine. Lead on.” Hannibal said hoping that Will wasn’t already lost. 

The path kept going down. Down. Down. Down. And it was in a state of considerable disrepair. To entertain himself, Hannibal pestered Will with a barrage of questions. Will ignored most of them, but every third question made Will so angry that Hannibal was usually able to pry something out of him with the follow-up. 

“Where did you get the girl’s uniform,” Hannibal asked when his line of questioning turned to that night he’d caught Will in his dormitory impersonating Alana.

“I borrowed them from Abigail!” Will snapped as he climbed over a boulder that was blocking their path with that uncanny catlike grace of his. It was no wonder he was such a good Seeker. Quickness came as naturally to him as it did to Hannibal. But Hannibal doubted the clothes belonged to Abigail. He remembered the Ravenclaw heraldry sewn onto the breast pocket. Ravenclaw, not Slytherin. Hannibal thought it more likely that Will possessed a pair of robes for each of the four Houses to be a better spy. Hannibal considered pressing that line of questioning further, but there was something else bothering him. 

“Why did you kiss me?”

Hannibal heard Will stumble and curse though he couldn’t see him. “Will?” He prompted when Will grew silent. 

“I’m...not good with voices.”

Hannibal climbed over the boulder and rejoined Will on the other side. The Slytherin boy had lowered his wand so his face would be obscured by shadow. “What did you say?” 

“I panicked! Okay!? I can’t do voices...yet,” Will warned, the threat obvious. “It didn’t mean anything, you git.”

“I didn’t think it did.” 

“THEN WHY ASK!?” Will shouted exasperated by yet another meaningless question in his eyes. 

“I was wondering what you would—,” a sound brought him up short. It sounded like a very large lock turning on old and weathered gears.

“What was that?” Will whispered although Hannibal suspected it was far too late for the stealth approach. And he would have said as much, except that his ears picked up on another sound—distant but growing closer.

“Kill. Kill. I want to kill,” a voice said in the distance. 

“We need to move,” Hannibal grabbed Will by the elbow and dragged him deeper into the caves.

“What’s got you so antsy?” Will whispered, convinced enough by Hannibal’s tone of voice to take matter seriously.

“Shhhhh.” Hannibal didn’t feel like explaining to Will that sometimes he heard a voice that threatened unspeakable things on his schoolmates…or that sometimes he wanted to join it. Despite the first name basis, Will had been his mortal enemy mere hours ago. Hannibal was sure Will would go straight to Dumbledore with the knowledge too.

The boys were silent after that brush with the unknown threat as they picked their way around boulders and debri that had begun to take on distinctive shapes. Large hunks of rock lay in pieces, smooth but for the scale like patterns etched into them. They were chiseled into curves as thick as three students and Hannibal was certain that they were passing through the viscera of what had one been a very large statue of a snake. They were definitely close to the Chamber of Secrets now, but what could have done this to such a large structure? 

They followed the trail of serpentine markers until they came to a large open chamber and a causeway bordered by large, open jawed serpents in striking position. At the end of the causeway, sat a still pool and what looked like a fountain in the shape of Salazar Slytherin.

But Will’s attention was drawn to the body of a girl who lay in a heap before the judgmental eyes of the founder of Slyterin house.Will lunged forward before Hannibal could stop him and ran to his sisters side. 

“Abigail! Abigail! Please, wake up,” he shouted over her. Then, more quietly, he whispered “please, you can’t be dead.” But in the cavernous vault, Will’s hushed pleas echoes through the chamber like the howl of a grim. 

Hannibal flinched, his scar suddenly on fire. He quickly pulled the hood of his robe over his blond hair and withdrew into the shadows. 

“She won’t wake,” a voice said from the doorway through, which he and Will had just passed. Moment’s later a boy, several years older than he and Will, stepped into the light. 

Impossible, Hannibal thought, there was no one in that cavern with us. 

“What do you mean? She’s not--” Will growled and jumped up, placing his body between the newcomer and Abigail.

“She’s still alive, but only just.” The boy said with concern and walked past Hannibal’s hiding spot without remark. 

Will’s body relaxed, but in the shadows, Hannibal reached for his wand. There was something wrong about the boy’s words, something lacking yet all too familiar. 

“Who are you?” Will said.

“A memory. Preserved in a diary. Perhaps you are familiar with it?”

Hannibal carefully crept forward to get a better look, mindful of the puddles on the ground that might give him away. He could not see the stranger’s face from this vantage, but he could see Will’s. His rival’s face had drained of color as his mind made a jump Hannibal couldn’t explain. 

“Tom Marlovo Riddle,” Will choked. 

“Yes,” Riddle smiled. “I thought you might have heard of me. But what you don’t know, is that as poor Abigail grows weaker, I grow stronger. She’s the key...to everything.

“No, it can’t be.”

“Yes, Will. It was your sister Abigail who opened the Chamber of Secrets. Abigail who set the basilisk on the mudbloods and Filch’s cat. Abigail who wrote the threatening messages on the wall.”

“Let her go. If she dies you won’t survive her long.”

Tom tskked. “Bold words for a boy who doesn’t know who I am….who I really am.”

Will shuddered then rolled his shoulders as if trying to shake off his fear. “I know who you are, Tom. I know your past, your present” Will drew his wand from his robe, “your future.”

“Oh? This should be good. Tell me, young Master Graham. Who is Tom Riddle?”

“A memory, nothing but a memory of the fool who tried and failed to complete Salizar’s Slytherin’s vile work. I know your secret Tom Riddle, but you don’t know mine.” 

“Hahaha, and what secret is that? That you are an undocumented metamorphmagus who does his father’s bidding like a dog on a leash? Or that you like wearing skirts more than you are willing to admit? Abigail and I had long chats about you.”

Will’s eyes flared. “I’m going to enjoy this next part.” His lips moved and a thin line of red dust streamed from the tip of his wand and coalesced into an arrangement of letter’s above Tom Riddle’s head. The name Tom Marlovo Riddle hung there suspended in the air. “You are stronger than me. I admit that. But I know someone who is because he’s already beaten you, Tom. Or should I say….Lord Voldemort.”

Hannibal’s scar throbbed like a heartbeat as letters rearranged themselves to spell out the words “I am Lord Voldemort”. 

It can’t be, Hannibal breathed. 

“Clever boy, but little good it will do you. You are no, Hannibal Lecter.”

‘But I am,’ Hannibal thought, realizing that he was Will’s secret. Hannibal had dreamed of this moment for so long and had countless, searing speeches prepared for the man who had murdered his family and robbed him of a happy childhood. But after he let the invisibility cloak fall from his shoulder and stepped into the light, the only one fell from his lips with a resounding roar. “INCENDIO!” he shouted at the pre-pubescent dark lord, forgetting about the collateral danger in his anger. 

Fire flared and the end of his wand and spiraled towards Tom, Will, and Abigail. Will dropped to the ground, shielding Abigail with his body; however, before the flame could reach the friend and foe alike, the basilisk slithered out of the mouth of the statue of Salizar Slytherin and splashed down into the pool of water at the end of the causeway. A wave of water washed over the trio extinguishing the fireball Hannibal had sent. 

“Shit,” Hannibal swore, reverting to his muggle upbringing in his terror as he scrambled to get out from under the basilisk’s deadly gaze. “Don’t look at it’s eyes, Will! It’s a---,”

“Basilsik! Yes! I know! I’m not a complete idiot!” Will shouted back.

“Kill the Grahams, but leave him for me” Riddle commanded the basilisk in parseltongue. Then, in English, “Don’t think parseltongue will save you or your little friends now, Lecter. The basilisk obeys only me.”

Hannibal’s mind raced through various spell combinations, but the math was not in their favor. Few things could kill a basilisk, and as yet, only one person had proven capable of defeating Voldemort. Shame Hannibal couldn’t remember how.

Suddenly, a piercing cry split the air as Faux, Dumbledores red phoenix flew into the chambers clutching something in its talons. Hannibal tracked the bird’s movements by watching it’s flight path.

The basilisk snapped at Faux, but the headmaster's nimble companion avoided the larger creature with ease. Hannibal lost sight of Faux’s shadow then, but when he came back into view, the phoenix was diving for the basilisk, talons now empty. 

“Incredible,” Hannibal whispered as he watched the smaller creature rip out the eyes of the basilisk with medical precision. 

“No!!!” Riddle screamed. “You wretched beast.” In the distance, Hannibal could hear Will firing off a series of spells of his own. He sounded like he was on the move, presumably trying to lead the basilisk away from the unconscious Abigail. 

The wail of the injured basilisk grew fainter as Will and the creature withdrew into the tunnels, leaving Hannibal to deal with Tom Riddle...alone. 

“You may have blinded the basilisk, boys, but he can still hear you!” 

“Here this. Alarte Ascendare!”

However…..nothing happened. Hannibal felt the magic leave his body, but Riddle remained on his feet.

“Impendentia!” He tried instead but no change. 

Riddle began to laugh. “And they say you are a child prodigy? Pathetic.” He walked over to Abigail’s body and looked down at it with disgust. “I am still only a memory, but in a few minutes, Abigail Hobbs will be dead, and Lord Voldemort will return. Very much alive.” Riddle sneered. Then he leaned down and picked up Abigail’s wand from the floor, something he should not be able to do yet unless Abigail was nearly gone. 

Hannibal Lecter, the boy who lived, had promised himself that he would feel no fear when he met Voldemort again. But right now, he felt very much alone and not at all ready to die. But how did you fight a memory? While he didn’t have the answer, he knew he could stall for time by trying to stabilize Abigail, so he rushed to her side to see what could be done. She lay curled around a diary, as gold and as rigid as a corpse. Hannibal removed his robe and placed it over the first year student like a blanket.

“Oh isn’t this charming. Noble of you not to run, but this is really desperate don’t you think?”

“Oh shut up,” Hannibal said, feigning bravado. It was a shock to him that his teeth were not chattering. Where was that cold fury he’d felt last year while Quirrell died in his hands? It had been so easy then. Hannibal watched Tom Riddle circling him like a shark. In the darkness beyond, the basilisk roared as it and Will continued to fit. Hannibal felt almost envious of the other boy who was facing off against a flesh and blood monster, something you could kill with your bare hands. 

Abigail coughed raggedly. It was the wet rattle of the soon-to-be-dead, and the sound of it gave Hannibal a thought. Perhaps the answer was not to stall for time, but to let events transpire to their inevitable end. Without a means to kill Riddle in the real world, Abigail was doomed regardless. If she died, Riddle would become vulnerable. It made sense. But this thought led to another, darker in form and nature. If Hannibal chose the moment of her death instead of simply letting nature run its course, he might gain the element of surprise....

Will would be sad, the voice of compassion said, which Hannibal shrugged off. Will would be alive...maybe....if the basilisk hadn’t finished him off already. 

But how to do it? Hannibal knew only one spell that could kill, and kill quickly. It was ironic that his first time casting it would be before the very man who had used it on him before when Hannibal was only an infant. 

Hannibal gripped his wand and looked down at Abigail’s tortured face. This was merciful, he told himself as the word “Avada,” formed on his lips in a hushed whisper. 

Suddenly, the basilisk crashed through an iron grate, flailing wildly and in pain. Deep slashes now scored it’s serpentine body from an unknown origin though Will was nowhere to be found. 

“Impossible,” Riddle swore, “Where is Will Graham?”

“Up here!”

Hannibal looked up and to see Will Graham standing on the head of Salazar Slytherin with….the sword of Godric Gryffindor in his hand!?”

At the sound of Will’s voice, the basilisk reared up and struck blindly and grazed Will on the arm. Will kept his grip on the sword hilt despite the injury and baited the beast into a second strike. This time, when the jaws of the basilisk reached for him, Will thrust the sword of Gryffindor into the basilisk's mouth, cutting through the soft palate of its mouth to strike its brain. 

The snake pulled back, and with a final, mournful wail, it fell to the floor dead. 

Tom Riddle watched his companion at arms fall without so much a flicker of remorse or loss. “You’ll pay for that,” was all he said. Will climbed down the statue and stumbled weakly to Hannibal’s side.

“Is she?” Will asked.

Hannibal shook his head.

“Don’t worry. You’ll all be dead soon enough.” Tom Riddle taunted. “How are you liking the venom of basilisk, Graham?

Will gritted his teeth through obvious pain as he gripped his shoulder. “Better than a warm butterbeer on a cold day.”

Hannibal looked at the cut on Will’s arm and saw the basilisk fang peaking through his fingers. “I have to remove that.”

Will shook his head. “No good.”

“Don’t be silly. We aren’t dead yet,” and without further comment from his patient, Hannibal peeled Will’s fingers back and ripped the tooth from his wound.

“ARRGH!?! What is wrong with you, you sadist!?! Don’t realize I’m dead anyway. The basilisk venemon….there’s not enough time to get the antidote even if Madame Pomfrey happens to have it.” 

Hannibal looked at the lethal fang in his hands, which still dripped venom onto the floor and left burn marks on whatever it touched. ‘That’s it!‘ He realized.

Hannibal reached for the diary in Abigail’s hand and looked up into Tom Riddle’s face with a wide grin of delight. “I think I’m really going to enjoy this,” Hannibal said as he brought the basilisk fang down and drove it into the pages of the diary. 

Riddle screamed in pain as black blood began to bubble up from the blank pages of the book. Hannibal savored every instant as the boy’s body began to unravel until there was nothing left but the shadows suspended in the dust he left behind. 

No sooner had the memory of Tom Riddle departed, did the color return and life return to Abigail’s body. She woke up with a disoriented gasp and then began to cough as her body came back online slowly. “Will?” She said blearily, and then, as her eyes refocused she became aware of Hannibal’s presence. “HANNIBAL LECTER!?”

“Hey,” Will said meekly and grabbed her cheek with a bloody hand. “I’ll explain everything later, okay?”

“Will, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do any of this.” She said and hugged her brother’s hand to her face. “Dad gave me the diary and said--,”

“Abigail,” Will cut her off sharply. “None of that now. This was dad’s fault, not yours. Okay? Now, I need you to go get Madame Pomfrey. It’s important. Do you remember how to get back to the bathroom?”

Abigail nodded. 

“Good,” he said and let his hand fall to the floor. “Then go. Hurry, Abigail.” And with that, his sister bolted for the exit.

Hannibal waited until Abigail was out of earshot. “I thought you said there wasn't enough time?”

“I just didn’t want her to see me die.” Will was now leaning heavily on Hannibal’s shoulder, unable to sit up on his own. “Do you mind if I ask you to stay? I...I don’t want to be alone.”

Hannibal thought back to his fight with Tom Riddle and how similar he and Will Graham actually would. “Of course,” he said. 

“Thank you,” Will said and began to cough. 

Hannibal was suddenly reminded of Abigail and how he had told himself it would be more merciful to end her suffering. He considered whether he should do the same for Will, but found himself less inclined to do so for some reason. What a shame. Will Graham was far more interesting a rival and person than Hannibal had ever known. And now….this. Now it was coming to an end. “Is there nothing to be done?”

‘You could distract me with your stupid questions.” Will grinned. “You might as well. Last shot and all.”

Hannibal barked a laugh. “Fine, but remember, you chose this. How did your sister get the diary?”

“You heard her. It was my piece of shit father,” Will spat. “Thought he could use her to purify Hogwarts of the muggles. Didn’t matter if she lost her life in the process because of her mixed blood. Look, I know I asked for this but can you ask about something else? I don’t want to die with his name in my mouth.”

One never realized how large a shadow death cast until it was in the room with you. Ordinarily, Hannibal’s inquisitive mind would be at no loss for questions but the gravity of the situation made Hannibal remember something Will had said earlier about asking the right questions. 

“Where did you find the Sword of Gryffindor?”

Will grinned. “Those rags Faux had in his talons? It was the sorting hat. Faux dropped it at my feet and then….I don’t know, there it was, sticking out of the hat like it was meant for me. Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Did the sorting hat say anything to you that night? The night you were sorted.”

The sorting had a lot to say that night as Hannibal recalled and every word of it a lecture. His elder sister Mischa had been something of a legendary troublemaker during her time at Hogwarts. But Hannibal had never forgiven the hat for ruining the magic of his first night at Hogwarts. Now didn’t really seem like the time to get into all that. “No. It was pretty routine.”

Will looked surprised. “Oh. Thought there would be more two it than that. Your legendary status and all.”

“Okay, now I’m asking to change the subject.”

“Right, right. Anyway, the hat said I had two destinies and I would have to choose that night, which road I would follow. It said I could do great or terrible things if I chose either Gryffindor or Slytherin.”

“And you chose terrible? I mean you are a Graham, but--”

“That’s right. I am a Graham,” Will said cutting him off. “And Abigail is too. I knew she had inherited our father’s magical abilities and would be going to Hogwarts soon. Those two are so much alike, far more than he realizes,” he said darkly and Hannibal got the impression there was more history there.

“And you wanted to protect her?”

“I did. I knew she’d be sorted into Slytherin. How could she not? All she’s ever wanted is to make him proud. And look, it almost got her killed today. So I chose Slytherin, I chose to do terrible things. I thought that was my destiny.”

“But clearly the Sword of Gryffindor feels differently.” Hannibal prompted.

“”Yes,” Will breathed with relief. Can you bring it to me? I’d like to hold it once again. It’s warm, you know? Like a fire that’s safe to touch.”

Hannibal helped Will lie down and offered his own robe as a pillow while he retrieved the sword and placed it in Will’s hand. “Is there anything you’d like me to tell Abigail?”

“Tell her that this wasn’t her fault. I know she ran as fast as she could.”

Hannibal nodded and the two boys grew quite sensing that the end was near. Will had closed his eyes--either because he no longer had the energy to keep them open or because he was resigned to his fate. Hannibal, however, kept vigil and looked towards the exit with hope that Dumbldedore would soon arrive with Madame Pomfrey in tow. 

Suddenly, movement in the darkness, but it was Faux, not Dumbledore who had returned. The brightly plumed phoenix, landed gently near the boys, distress evident in the creature’s behavior. Faux waddled over to Will’s side and laid his head on Will’s open wound and began to weep.

“Of course!” Hannibal said with delight as he watched Will’s color and temperature begin to improve. The tears of a phoenix was one of the most powerful healing magics though difficult to obtain because of the rarity of the creatures. 

Will opened his eyes. “I’m not dead,” he said with disbelief.

“I could always change that if you like, Graham,” Hannibal smirked. It was might seem a strange way to transition out of a fight, but necessary. Soon others would come. Soon he and Will would ascend the stairs at return to their former stations. 

“Oh, I see we’re starting that back-up, eh? Allies of convenience only?”

“Ravenclaw still trails Slytherin by 15 points in the House Cup. I can’t have Professor Dumbledore thinking we worked together on this.” It was all said in good humor, but heaven forbid that he, Hannibal Lecter, become friends with Will Graham after all this. 

“I BEAT A BASILISK!? By myself I might add!” Will argued, genuinely furious. 

“Well I killed Voldemort...again.” Hannibal added enjoying the normalcy and comfort their banter brought him. 

“Oh for the love of….you are going to be even more irritating now,” Will huffed as he got to his feet and held out his empty hand to Hannibal. It was a trick of course. The minute Hannibal reached back, Will retracted his offer of assistance and turned his back.

“See ya around, Lecter,” Will said as he began walking towards the exit with the Sword of Gryffindor slung over his shoulder. 

Hannibal scrambled to his feet mildly put off by how unceremoniously Will had concluded their business together. “That’s it? Aren’t you worried I’ll reveal your secrets. 

“Not really.”

Hannibal looked at his wet and dirty robe in disgust and decided to leave them lying in the chamber rather than put it back on. “And why not?”

Will paused at the doorway. “Because I’m a puzzle that you haven’t figured out, and you won’t be satisfied if someone beats you to it. Besides,” Will turned his head so that Hannibal could see Will’s features morph into a mirror image of his own. “I’m not exactly defenseless, am I?”

“No...you certainly are not.”


End file.
